Her Satanic Majesty Requests
by Wardown
Summary: "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a Queen of wealth and taste."


"Please allow me to introduce myself,

I'm a Queen of Wealth and Taste..."

The liars had thought the Queen was dead, murdered at the hands of her lover. They believed it was safe to slander her, finally branding her as a monster of the Underworld, disguised as an angel of light, sent to do the Devil's work on Earth. But, one should never summon a demon into this world, unless one can control it.

"I charge ye upon your life. Do not calle up that which ye cannot put downe at wille." They had done well to heed the advice of the old necromancer, Joseph Curwen, but they kinda forgot to do so.

For a time, their lives were happy . They were feted by Hollywood; they received awards and fortunes. They were hired by Disney to produce the new Star Wars franchise. Yes, life was sweet. Those who had known and loved the Queen hated them, for true memory never dies. They dreamed of justice for her, but they never expected to receive it, for evil flourishes in this world, while virtue goes unrewarded. Still, the liars prospered. Until their world changed. The day when each received a card, embossed in scarlet lettering, bearing the legend:-

"Her Satanic Majesty Requests and Requires your presence at her Court"

The card bore the seal of the three-headed dragon.

The work of some crank, plainly. Unsettling, but absurd. No doubt some obsessive partisan of the Queen was trying to frighten them. They destroyed the invitations, and hired bodyguards. They were well aware that the Queen's followers hated them, and they took care to avoid them, preferring the company of flatterers and those who sought financial rewards from them.

A few weeks later, a second card arrived for each of them, again embossed in scarlet lettering, and sealed as before. "Your failure to attend upon Her Satanic Majesty is noted. We summon and command that you present yourself at her Court." This was now getting beyond a joke. They hired Kroll Associates, to find out who was sending these letters. Several weeks, and many thousands of dollars of later, the investigators had drawn a blank.

That night, they each dreamed the same dream. They walked through a smoking wasteland of charred streets , and burned out buildings. Bodies lay in the roads, turned to charcoal, as ash softly drifted down. Here and there, they saw flames through the smoke. They came to a square, filled with people. A platform had been raised, on which they saw King Robert, the Usurper, writhing on a stake which protruded from his mouth, face contorted in agony. Kneeling, with hands bound, were the rest of the Usurper's Dogs, as men sharpened fresh stakes for them. Below the platform, men and women were chained to poles, surrounded by logs, crying out for mercy, as the crowd laughed and roared. They recognised them; the Imp, Sam Tarly, Ser Bronn, Lady Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister, and their minions. Men came forth, bearing torches, and put them to the kindling, as their victims shrieked. And then they saw HER, staring down impassively from the steps of the Red Keep. Silver haired, amethyst eyed, dressed in black and scarlet, beautiful and terrible as the dawn, treacherous as the sea, stronger than the foundations of the earth! Here, yes here indeed, was Her Satanic Majesty, returned to Earth to lead her ghastly host into battle, that her enemies might be utterly cast down and destroyed, even as the crowd chanted her name, and cried:-

"You have trampled the lion and the direwolf; the stag and the huntsman hast thou trodden underfoot."

The following morning, a third card arrived, embossed and sealed as before. It said, simply, "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin. You have been weighed in the balance and found wanting."

This was alarming. They first reported the matter to the police, who were as baffled as Kroll had been. They advised them to move, and to leave no forwarding address. The liars found that animals shunned them. Dogs howled and fled, as they passed; cats arched their backs and hissed at them. The invitations to industry events started to dry up. Disturbingly, they found that even their flatterers had begun to shun them. They were becoming about as popular as Harvey Weinstein, among their peers. They sought out a Medium, in San Francisco. "You are in peril of your souls" she warned them. "You have offended a Great Old One." For a substantial fee, she performed an exorcism, and for some months, they heard nothing more.

Until another embossed card arrived saying "What is dead may never die. But rises harder and stronger."

They had had enough. They were multimillionaires. They decided to purchase Santa Monica, a ten acre island off Monstserrat, with a luxury mansion, and its own private harbour. They would recruit a small army of security guards, and would surely be safe from whoever was persecuting them. The purchase went smoothly, and they made their arrangements to move. They would fly to Montserrat in a private Jet, and then sail for their new home. They flew from Los Angeles, anticipating a journey of about seven hours. The flight staff were most attentive, plying them with fine foods and champagne. But, something was not quite right. After eight hours, they still had not arrived. "Turbulence" explained the smiling hostess, offering more champagne. After ten hours, their patience was exhausted. It was raining hard, and they could not tell where they were, when they looked out of the window. A grey, choppy sea, was all appeared to view, as if they were out in the Atlantic. They demanded to speak to the pilot. "Of course" replied the hostess. She led them to the cabin and opened the door. "What the hell is going on, " shouted one of the liars, quite drunk by this point. "You should be taking us to Montserrat". "Montserrat?" replied the pilot, turning to face them; a silver-haired woman, purple fires burning in her eye-sockets, wearing a trim black and scarlet uniform. "Oh no, I'm taking you somewhere a great deal...…..hotter than that."

**Notes:**

My thanks to HP Lovecraft, JRR Tolkien, and the authors of the Old Testament for the themes of this short story.

For those who have been lucky enough not to read the script of Season 8, Episode 6, D & D described Daenerys as Her Satanic Majesty. Yes, the Devil. The Devil can, of course, change sex at will. As CS Lewis pointed out, people can either make the mistake of not believing in devils at all, or of taking an obsessive and unhealthy interest in them.


End file.
